


Substitute

by PR Zed (przed)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-21
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:45:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/przed/pseuds/PR%20Zed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it seems Doyle has been killed in an explosion, Bodie is left to hunt for his killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bodie was never sure what woke him up. All he knew was that he was suddenly lying on his back, wide awake and staring at the ceiling of an anonymous hotel room. He took a deep breath, turned on his side and closely examined the man beside him.

The man's hair was curly, but even in the pre-dawn light Bodie could see it was strawberry blond rather than the russet it should have been. His body was lean and well muscled, but those muscles had not been acquired running Jack Crane's obstacle courses or combating Brian Macklin's fists. And his hands, his hands were smooth and free from calluses, the hands of a man who made his living at a desk. Those hands, and the man they belonged to, had never climbed a cliff, nor fired a gun, nor tried to bring an ancient motorcycle back to life.

In short, the man was not Ray Doyle.

Bodie pursed his lips and tried to push all thoughts of Doyle out of his head, but he knew it was a losing battle. The sexy, scrawny bastard seemed to have permeated all of Bodie's senses, until he could no longer experience anything without the filter of how it might have been with Doyle. He couldn't see a film without wanting to tell Doyle about it, couldn't go to a restaurant with some bird without wondering how Doyle would have liked the wine. Couldn't fuck some anonymous bloke he'd pulled in a bar without thinking how much better it would have been to fuck Doyle. Or how much worse.

Because that was the problem, wasn't it? That was why he'd never tried it on with Doyle. 'Cause it might be bloody fantastic, having sex with Ray bloody Doyle, or it might be the worst thing he'd ever done. Might muck up everything: friendship, partnership. Everything.

It wasn't that he thought Doyle would turn him down. No chance of that. Doyle turned on in a stiff breeze, and he'd given Bodie enough hints that he swung both ways, at least in the distant past, that Bodie was sure he'd be willing. No, Doyle was up for it. Problem was, Bodie wasn't sure that he was.

He was up for the sex. He'd had fantasies about what it would be like to kiss that mouth, to feel that cock, to fuck that arse. But knowing Doyle, there'd be more than sex involved. Because Doyle did relationships and Bodie didn't and Bodie wasn't sure where that would leave them. And in the end, he didn't really want to find out. Better to keep the status quo than risk ruining what he had: best friend, great partner and a vivid fantasy life.

He turned onto his back again and stared at the ceiling. He was trying to decide between going back to sleep and waking the man beside him--Noel? Nigel? No, Neil, that was it--for nefarious purposes when his R/T went off.

Swearing softly, he grabbed the R/T and his clothes and made a dash for the small but functional en suite that had been one of the few selling points of the room. Shutting the door softly, he thumbed on the R/T.

"3.7."

"About time you answered, 3.7. Thought you never would." Bodie recognized Henderson's voice. Poor sod broke his leg in three places a month ago and had drawn comm. duty ever since.

"Was sleeping the sleep of the just."

"Not in your own bed, you weren't."

"And how do you know that?"

"Doyle tried you at your flat. Couldn't get an answer."

"Doyle." Bodie felt his back tighten as he frowned. "What did he want? Is he all right?"

"He's fine, but his R/T's buggered."

"Bloody thing's been playing up all week. I keep telling him to get a new one but he's too lazy to fill out the damned paperwork."

"Wish he would. He keeps calling me to pass on messages."

"And what's his message for me?"

"Asked me to let you know he got a call from a grass about the McGann case. Bloke wanted to meet right away."

"It's four o'clock in the bloody morning, Henderson."

"Don't I know it."

"Sorry. Did he leave an address?"

"Yeah, 14 Evershot Road. It's in Finsbury. He said he'd be there in about ten minutes."

"Thanks, Henderson. And if he calls back, let him know I'm on the way, would you?"

"Sure, Bodie."

Bodie quickly dressed in the loo, turned off the light and then slowly opened the door, hoping to avoid waking Neil. In the end, he needn't have worried. Neil was sitting up when he came out.

"That your work?" he asked, pointing at the R/T.

"Yeah."

"You a copper or something?" The question was asked with curiosity rather than hostility or fear, so Bodie answered as honestly as he could.

"Or something." Bodie pulled on his leather jacket and put the R/T in his pocket. "Best if you don't know what, exactly."

"I won't be seeing you again, then." To Neil's credit, his tone made that a comment rather than a question.

"Nah. Wouldn't be good for either one of us."

"Too bad." Neil leaned back against the wall and put his hands behind his head. "You're a lovely lay, Will."

Bodie let a smile be his answer to that.

"So, are you going to tell him?"

"Tell who what?"

And then Neil knocked him for six. "Tell the bloke I look like that you love him?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," Bodie said. Then he gave a cheeky grin. "And anyway, I don't love him, just fancy him."

"You keep telling yourself that, Will."

"Don't go thinking you know what you're talking about, Neil." Bodie swiftly abandoned the grin to show some of the real menace he tended to hide in polite society. "You don't want to meddle in things you know nothing about."

"It's not like we haven't all been there, falling for a good friend who happens to be straight and not wanting to fuck it up."

"That's not where I am. I don't think he's entirely straight, for a start."

"Well, then…" Neil started.

"But you right about me not wanting to fuck it up," Bodie said firmly.

"Ah."

"Yeah." Bodie did up his jacket and checked for his keys. "Take care, Neil."

"You too," he heard as he closed the door.

It was a good thing that the streets were nearly empty at this time of night, because Bodie's mind was not on the road as he drove towards Finsbury. He ran one red light, nearly went through two others and all because of Ray Doyle. Fucking Doyle and his tight arse and his dirty laugh and his rent boy posing. Bodie gritted his teeth as he shifted up and ran through another red light.

His R/T went off then, and because the universe was a miserable fucker, it was Doyle on the other end.

"You on your way, Bodie?"

"'Course I am. And I thought your R/T was buggered?"

"It was. But I gave it a good whack and it decided to play nicely. Bastard thing'll probably pack it in five minutes from now."

"Always cheery, aren't you Doyle."

"This time of the night, not really. And where the fuck were you anyway?" Doyle sounded cross. And well he might be. Bodie usually shared his whereabouts, even if he was planning on bedding a lovely lady. Especially if he was bedding a lovely lady, truth be told. But never when he planned on jumping the fence and pulling a fella.

"A gentleman never tells, Doyle."

"You're never a gentleman, Bodie."

"I'm always a gentleman. You're the cad."

"Yeah, yeah." Doyle sounded odd. Like he was too tired or too distracted to properly take the piss, Bodie wasn't sure which. "So when you planning on getting here?"

"You there already?"

"I should be there in a minute or two."

Bodie checked the name of the next street he passed. "It'll take me nearer thirty to get there. And that's if I'm not too nice about the speed limit."

"Don't let Cowley hear about it if a copper does you for speeding."

"No copper alive could catch me."

"I could," Doyle said, and just for a moment Bodie thought it was there again. The oddness of Doyle's voice. But then there was just static and the odd word slipping through. "Bugger this…packed in…soon." And then Bodie was alone in the dark, the purr of the Capri's engine, the drone of tyres on the macadam the only sounds in his ears. With the sleeping city surrounding him, Bodie felt as if he was the last man alive in London. He hit the clutch, shifted and sped up just a little bit more, suddenly needing to see Doyle more than anything, to confirm his existence.

He made it to the house in Finsbury in a little less than twenty-eight minutes, breaking all speed limits and not a few traffic laws in the process. He could see Doyle's gold Capri parked a few houses up as he turned off the engine and stepped out of the car.

The house wasn't much to look at. It was set back from the street and an overgrown hedge cut it off from its neighbours. It might once have been distinguished, but rot had set in long ago. Half the ground floor windows were boarded up, the yard wild with weeds and brambles. Bodie reckoned it wasn't good for much more than a squat, now, which was no doubt how Doyle's grass came to know about it. Not solid citizens, Doyle's grasses. On the dole, most of them, or getting by using less than legal means. Most of them lived in squats or wretched council flats. A few lived rough. They were none of them easy to find.

Bodie stood on the street, trying to spy a sign of life in the old building, but there was nothing. No light, no movement, no anything. A chill crawled down his spine and he began to wonder about this whole dodgy setup.

He pulled out his R/T and thumbed it on. "4.5, this is 3.7." Static was his only answer. Not that he'd expected anything else--it sounded as if Doyle's R/T had well and truly packed it in this time--but he'd hoped. "Doyle, can you hear me?" More static.

"Fuck this for a game of soldiers," he said, and took a step into the road.

And then the world exploded around him.

* * *

  
Bodie stumbled out of Cowley's office and down the corridor feeling as if he'd died and someone had forgotten to tell his heart to stop beating, his lungs to stop breathing. He felt as if his world had ended. Then again, it might have.

" _You don't know he was in the house, laddie. None of us do._ "

"</i>His car was there. It was the right address. What am I supposed to think</i>?"

" _Let Malone and the lads do their job. You're not fit for anything right now._ "

He had to admit that Cowley was right. He was fit for neither the job nor human company. Not when Ray Doyle was missing, presumed dead, blown up by some bloody nutter who hadn't even bothered to claim responsibility.

" _Who was Doyle supposed to be meeting_?"

" _He never said when I was talking to him. Don't think he told Henderson either. Just some grass was all I heard._ "

" _Then you've no clue what this was about. If it was CI5 business or something else from Doyle's past_?"

" _Whoever it was told Doyle he had information on the McGann case, but otherwise I've no fucking idea._ "

" _Language, laddie. Now get that down your throat._ "

Cowley had wasted the good stuff on him, thirty years old if it was a day and it might as well have been cat piss for all that he could taste it. Doyle dead. Jesus fucking wept.

" _Go home, Bodie. I'll call when I have any news._ "

" _Can't. The explosion did in my car, didn't it? Murphy drove me back here._ "

" _Well, then Murphy will drive you home. Tell him it's an order._ "

And that's what he was doing, looking for Murph so he could get a ride home and then drink himself insensible with a couple of good bottles he'd been saving for an evening with Doyle. Not nearly as good as Cowley's, but they'd suffice. Fuckin' hell, cheap gin would suffice at the moment.

As he neared the rest room he could hear voices drifting down the hall. Drawing closer, he could hear Murphy's clear tones. Closer still and he noted the other two were Lucas and McCabe. But he was nearly at the door before he could tell what they were saying. And when he did, he stopped cold.

"What was he like?" Lucas asked.

"Who?"

"Bodie. You thick or something? What was Bodie like when you found him?"

"What do you think?" Murphy's voice took on the 'I can't believe the idiots I work with' tone that he'd perfected over the years. If circumstances had been different, Bodie might have laughed.

"We know the generalities." That was McCabe. "We were wondering about the specifics."

"Christ almighty," Murph said, and that must mean he was pissed off. Murph never swore, never lost his temper. He was cooler even than Bodie, though Bodie would never admit that to anyone, let alone the man himself. "What sort of sick bastards are you?"

"Sick bastards who're going to have to work with Bodie. Who'd like to know what sort of shape he's in."

"Christ," Murph said again, but his voice made it clear he'd relented. Bodie could almost see his shoulders relaxing, see the thoughtful look on his face. "He was sitting on the pavement across the street when I drove up. Had his back to a garden wall. His hands were covered in blood. Looked like he'd gotten hundreds of little cuts on them when the house went up. And he was staring at where the house had been."

"Just staring?" McCabe asked.

"Just staring."

"See, that's what I don't understand," Lucas said. "I would have thought you'd have had to drag him out of the house. I'd have thought he'd run into it when it blew."

There was a long pause, a pause during which Bodie played the explosion over and over in his head. Remembered the way it lit up the pre-dawn sky, the way the bricks and wood of the house had turned into flying shrapnel, the way the sound of it had swallowed up the name he'd screamed at the top of his lungs, just like the fire must have swallowed up the man the name belonged to.

"I think he would have run into the house if he could have," Murph finally said. "But there was nothing to run into. When I got there, and that must have been maybe fifteen minutes after the explosion, it was nothing more than a smouldering pile of rubble. The fire brigade didn't have much to do. There was nothing left that even looked like a house."

"Fuck," McCabe said, slowly and with feeling. "Poor Doyle."

"Doyle went fast," Lucas said. "It's poor Bodie you should be thinking on."

"Poor bastard," McCabe said. "Don't take this the wrong way, Lucas, but I'm glad we're not that close. You go up in a fiery blast, I'll raise one for you at the pub, but I won't pine for you."

"Likewise, you prat," Lucas said.

"There's no one on the squad as close as those two," Murphy said. "I used to envy them that."

"Not any more," Lucas said.

"No." Murphy's voice was as flat as Bodie'd ever heard. "Not any more."

Bodie stood, immobile, back to the wall, wishing he'd been just a bit earlier, or just a bit later. Wishing he hadn't heard any of that. Stood listening as conversation drifted to cases and girlfriends and football and beer. Stood until he finally felt able to move.

"Murph," he said as calmly as he could manage. "Could you give me a lift home? My car's stuffed and Cowley's too mean to spring for a taxi chit. Said you could drive me."

"Sure mate." Murphy played the game that Bodie had started, feigning a normality that Bodie now knew none of them felt. Lucas and McCabe fell into the same farce, though Bodie saw them exchange a look that he chose to ignore.

Bodie stayed silent during the drive to his flat and Murphy followed suit. Bodie couldn't be bothered to say anything and he could tell from the set look on Murph's face and the way he fidgeted as he drove that he didn't know what to say. Bodie didn't blame him. He'd never known what to say in times like these himself. Better to stay silent than mumble some idiotic platitude; that was his philosophy.

"Thanks, Murph," Bodie said as they pulled up in front of his building. "You're a good mate."

"Do you want me to come up?" The question was tentative, as if Murphy didn't know whether he should even be asking it but felt he had to.

"No, 's all right."

"Really?" This time Murphy made eye contact and held it. Bodie felt himself being judged.

"Really."

Murphy gave him a sceptical look.

"Don't worry Murph. I'm not going to top myself."

"Never thought you would." Murphy straightened in his seat as if it was an affront to suggest he'd ever think such a thing. "Big tough lad like you."

"Yeah, well this big tough lad has an appointment with a bottle and his bed, in approximately that order."

"He might not be dead, you know." And there it was, the one thing they'd all avoided talking about, Murph and Lucas and McCabe. The elephant in the room. Bodie felt the breath catch in his throat and he swallowed deeply before answering.

"Yeah, I know. We've just got to wait till Malone and his crew go through the rubble."

"Yeah, well…"

Bodie opened the car door, unable to take any more of Murphy's well-meaning sympathy. "Go on, Murph. I'll be okay." He slammed the car door and didn't even look back to see if Murphy had driven off. He climbed the stairs to his second floor flat, went straight to his liquor cabinet and threw back a shot from the bottle he'd intended for his next night out with Doyle.

It was too much. His stomach rebelled and the next thing he knew he was hunched over the toilet, retching up the alcohol he'd just downed and the tea the fire brigade had given him and the bacon roll Betty had pressed into his hand. He kept on retching till there was nothing coming up but bile, and even then he couldn't stop the heaving.

In the end, exhaustion accomplished what his will couldn't and he collapsed, gasping, against the side of the tub. He pushed himself up, drank some cold water straight out of the tap and spat it out again and then made his way on shaking legs into the bedroom.

He kicked off his shoes, threw off his clothes and burrowed under the covers.

"You'd better not be dead, Doyle," Bodie muttered to no one, to himself, to whatever god was listening. "You'd fucking better not be dead."

As he fell into an unquiet sleep, full of dreams of explosions and screaming and one curly-haired, chipped-tooth bastard, one last thought drifted through his head: if Doyle wasn't dead, then where the fuck was he?

* * *

Bodie woke to a banging on the door. For a good twenty seconds he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened or why he was sleeping when the sun was streaming in through the window. And then everything came tumbling back and he threw back the covers, pulled on a robe and stumbled to the door.

He didn't expect to find George Cowley standing at his door, but there he was, looking impatient and tired and drawn.

"About time you answered, 3.7."

"Sorry, sir. I must have fallen asleep."

"That's all right, laddie. You likely needed it." Bodie came immediately alert. The Cow didn't usually sound nearly so benevolent. He waved him inside.

"Is there news?"

"Yes." Cowley looked at the bottle of scotch sitting on the mantle. "Would you mind?"

Bodie busied himself pouring a good helping of the amber liquid for Cowley. He didn't bother with one for himself. He didn't want to throw it up again. Especially not in front of Cowley.

He waited until Cowley had taken an appreciative sip of the scotch before he spoke again. "What have you heard, sir?"

Cowley's face should have told him what he needed to know, but he found he was clinging to one last pathetic scrap of hope.

"Malone's men found a body in the remains of the house." Bodie began shaking his head, not wanting to hear what he knew must come next. "They believe it's Doyle."

"It can't be. He's too mean to die."

"I'm afraid it might be, Bodie. He must have been close to the explosives, because the body was badly burned, but the build's right. And what's left of the clothes."

"Jesus." Bodie sat down before his legs went out from under him.

"The pathologist's examining the body now. We should know for sure in a few hours."

"I want to see him."

"I wouldn't advise it, Bodie.

"I don't care what you'd advise. I need to see him."

"Aye, I suppose you do." Cowley swallowed the remaining scotch in his glass and took a deep breath. "Well, get dressed. I'll take you there myself."

* * *

Bodie stood in the centre of the morgue, in the midst of stainless steel tables and glass cabinets full of unspeakable instruments, and wished he'd taken Cowley's advice. Wished he'd let the experts deal with this, wished he hadn't felt the overwhelming need to see the body they all thought was Doyle's.

But he had done. In part, he had to admit, because he'd wanted them to be wrong. He knew Doyle better than anyone. Better than his family, better than his girlfriends. Better than Cowley. And he'd been sure that if he saw the body, he'd be able to tell that it wasn't Doyle, that it had all been some horrible mistake.

But looking down at the body before him, a horror of charred flesh and broken bone, he was no longer sure of anything. The clothes, what remained of them, could certainly have been Doyle's, and the corpse was the right size and build. But what ate at Bodie were the glints of metal melted around the man's neck and wrist. Doyle always was a bloody peacock, liked to show his skin, liked to show his jewellery, and here was a body with what looked like the same bloody bracelet and neck chain that he'd favoured.

Bodie hadn't been bothered by the physical evidence of death since his teens, since Africa, but he felt convulsions threatening his stomach again and knew he had to leave the room. He burst through the doors to find Cowley in the antechamber talking quietly with the pathologist, a tall, cadaverous man with a neatly trimmed moustache and a nervously twitching mouth. They both looked up as he entered, their expressions not betraying their emotions and that in itself told him more than he wanted. He wondered what exactly it was they saw. A man who'd lost his partner, his best friend. Or a man who'd lost so much more.

Bodie approached them with purpose. His own instinct had failed to tell him the body wasn't Doyle; he needed an expert to do it for him.

"Do you know yet? If it's Doyle?" Bodie was in no mood for social niceties.

"Dr. Marwood was just about to give his report. Doctor?"

The pathologist looked to Cowley before speaking, and Bodie saw Cowley give a nearly imperceptible nod. He resented the fact that Marwood thought he might need to be protected from the truth, whatever it was, even as he realized that protection might be exactly what he wanted.

Wanted, but couldn't live with. He'd never shied from the truth before, and he wasn't about to now. Not even if it meant that confirming those bones in the room behind him belonged to the man who meant the world to him. He met Marwood's eyes as steadily as he could as the man began speaking.

"As I was just telling Mr. Cowley, we don't have a positive I.D. on the body yet. The blood type matches Doyle's, as does the basic physical description, as far as that goes. Beyond that, though, it's going to be difficult."

"Difficult, how?"

"Well, you've seen the body. There are no fingerprints left to check. And Mr. Doyle's dental records might prove useless."

"What? Why?"

"I know it's hard to tell, but it wasn't the blast that killed our friend in there. He was shot in the head before the explosion."

"That wouldn't explain why you can't use Doyle's dental records."

"No, but after he was shot, his teeth were smashed. Probably with a hammer."

"Christ." If Bodie'd thought he felt like throwing up before, the sensation was almost overwhelming now. He swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth before speaking again. "You sure that was done after he was dead."

"Oh yes. Quite sure."

"Thank fuck for small mercies," Bodie said under his breath, earning a sharp look, but nothing more from Cowley. He was knew he was straining Cowley's tolerance with such language, but found he didn't give a rat's arse.

"Dr. Marwood," Cowley said, redirecting the good doctor's attention. "When do you think you'll be able to tell us if this is Doyle?"

"Tomorrow morning most likely. Tomorrow afternoon at the latest. It's going to be painstaking work reconstructing his mouth, but we should be able to manage it by then."

"Thank you, doctor." And without waiting for further word from the doctor, Cowley took Bodie by the elbow and ushered him out.

Once they were in the hall Cowley backed him into a wall and fixed him there with a firm expression. "I know I shouldn't have to say this Bodie, but I'm going to say it anyway. No matter what the doctor finds I don't want you going off on a mission of vengeance. I don't want CI5's reputation smeared by you meting out vigilante justice."

"Vigilante justice?" Bodie spat out the words and pulled his arm out of Cowley's grasp. "What about the usual sort of justice? Would sticking that on the necks of the bastards who did _that_ ," he nodded toward the morgue, "besmirch the reputation of CI-fucking-5?"

"No it would not, Bodie, and you know it. But I think you also know why I had to make that clear."

"Why don't you spell it out?" Bodie was feeling sickened and vicious in equal measure, and since the true targets of his anger were nowhere in sight, Cowley would have to suffice.

"Very well. You've consistently shown an inability to follow the rules where Doyle's life is concerned. You've disobeyed orders to save him and pushed the limits of other orders to keep him safe."

"I've never endangered a mission. Not once." Bodie was yelling now and knew it and didn't care one jot.

"You've never failed on a mission, Bodie, but you've endangered more than one over the years. And don't think I don't know it."

"Then why haven't you fired me? Why haven't you kicked me off the squad?"

"Because you've never failed. Because you and Doyle, faults and all, were the best team I had."

"Were?" For even suggesting that it was Doyle lying on that table, Bodie was ready to murder the Scottish bastard where he stood.

"Yes, were. And I hope you'll continue to be." Cowley took a deep breath and Bodie could see him deliberately calm himself, even as Bodie felt his own rage rise and pulse and thump inside his chest. "But think it through, man. You're not nearly as thick as you let some believe. Even if that body isn't Doyle, what do you suppose has happened to him?"

Bodie took a shallow, painful breath as all the twilight fears he'd suppressed came tumbling back to him. Bodie didn't say anything, but that moment he hated Cowley more than he'd hated anyone in his life.

"If that's not Doyle, then Doyle's still missing," Cowley said. "Which means who ever set that explosion did it to hide the fact that they took Doyle. And if they were willing to do that, to kill another man to conceal the fact that they have Doyle, then what else would they be willing to do?"

No longer able to stand still, Bodie started pacing the narrow corridor. "Christ," he said, even as he restrained himself from putting a clenched fist through the wall. Broken bones would help no one, least of all Doyle.

Bodie started as Cowley put a hand lightly on his arm.

"I need you thinking, Bodie. And more important, Doyle needs you thinking."

"If he's still alive."

"Even if he's not, would you want to do less than your best to find his killers?"

And Cowley had him there.

"Fine." Bodie made that one syllable as short as he could, not trusting himself to say more.

"I can count on you?"

"Yes." Bodie moved away from Cowley's hand. "You bloody know you can."

"Good," Cowley said, but for someone who'd got what he wanted he looked remarkably unhappy. "Now come on. We'll go back to headquarters and trace Doyle's movements for the last twenty-four hours."

"Yes, sir." Bodie followed Cowley's back, concentrating only on what he could do to solve the mystery Doyle had left them. Grief and anxiety would be put aside for the moment, as would all thought of what he might do in a world without Doyle. Time enough to consider that if the worst came to pass and he was left with nothing but a bare plot of earth holding Doyle's bones and the fool's game of wondering what might have been if he'd damned the consequences and tried it on with Doyle.

* * *

The next day at noon, Bodie found himself in the CI5 rest room, foot sore and exhausted and with no more clue about what had happened to Ray Doyle than he'd had the previous day. It had been easy enough for Cowley to propose tracking Doyle's steps before his disappearance, but there had been fuck all actual evidence to work with.

Bodie had last seen Doyle that evening, when Doyle had dropped him off at his flat. Doyle had pressed him a bit about his plans, and, given that those plans were to find a willing man to fuck, Bodie had put him off. Ray'd been in a bit of a funk as he'd driven off. Silly sod never did well when he didn't get his way.

Then again, thinking about it, Bodie realized that Doyle had been in a bit of a funk for a while now. He'd been off his game when it came to ribbing Bodie. Hadn't been much for going out, either, apart from a few evenings at the pub with Bodie. Bodie wasn't even sure when he'd last pulled a bird. Kept claiming he was too tired or couldn't be bothered. Had he known something he wasn't telling Bodie? Did he have some idea what might happen to him?

Bodie wasn't sure. But what he was sure about was that after Doyle had left him at his flat, he seemed to disappear from the face of the earth. None of his neighbours had seen him come or go. He hadn't been to his local or the shops in his area. He hadn't called any of the birds Bodie knew he'd seen in the last six months. Bodie'd pinched Doyle's little book from his flat and called them all, every last one.

None of them had seen Ray for ages and all had been surprised to hear from Bodie. A few, the ones Bodie had liked anyway, asked if Ray was all right. Bodie had lied and said yeah, he'd just gone off on vacation without letting anyone know where and they needed to clear up some of his files at work. They all knew he and Bodie worked together, and they had all been at the mercy of Doyle getting called in at odd hours, so none of them had thought his call too peculiar.

He stopped in at headquarters with his non-information, only to have Cowley send him on another errand: checking Doyle's known grasses. He ran into a few other agents--Anson, Susan, even Stuart--who'd all been drafted by Cowley to find out what they could about Doyle. Some had canvassed the neighbourhood of the explosion hoping to run across a local insomniac who might have seen something, some had already started tracking down Doyle's informants, but no one'd had any more luck than Bodie.

Bodie spent the night in some of London's more unsavoury corners looking for the various no-hopers that Doyle got information from. The ones he could find weren't too pleased to see him. None of them admitted to calling Doyle, nor of having heard anything about what Donal McGann might be up to.

Some time before sunrise, Bodie had come in to headquarters to grab a quick kip in the rest room. He'd headed out again a couple of hours later, when Murph had stumbled into the room searching for a place to lay down his head. Bodie'd spent four more hours on the streets and come up with precisely nothing before admitting that he was past the point where he could do any good without a proper night's sleep and a decent meal. But he still didn't want to go home, so he'd returned to CI5.

Which was where he found himself, stretched out on the clapped out sofa someone had donated to the rest room years ago, staring at the plaster peeling off the ceiling and wondering if he was ever going to see Doyle, living or dead, again.

And it was in that state of mind that Cowley found him.

"Bodie, I need to talk to you." Cowley rapped out the words in his usual impatient manner. Bodie was so knackered he didn't even take the time to analyze Cowley's tone of voice, he simply stood and followed his boss to his office.

Once there, Cowley pointed him to a chair, poured them both a generous helping of adequate scotch, and began to talk.

"I've heard from Dr. Marwood."

Bodie was suddenly wide awake, the scotch settling like liquid mercury in his stomach.

"What's his verdict?" Bodie asked, not knowing if he wanted his question answered or not.

"He doesn't have one."

"What?"

"According to the good doctor, there is no way to positively identify the body we found. The teeth were too badly destroyed to check the dental records."

"What about broken bones? Surely Ray's had a few."

"Doyle's had a few cracked ribs over the years, as had the body. But doctors don't consider broken ribs serious enough to x-ray, so we have no record of which ones Doyle broke." Cowley pursed his lips. "That's a flaw in our record keeping which has now been corrected. I'm ordering every agent to have x-rays done after every break, no matter how minor."

"Doesn't help us with Doyle, though, does it." Bodie couldn't help but feel bitter that Cowley was making policy decisions while Bodie didn't know if his partner was alive or dead.

"No it doesn't. And I'm sorry about that, Bodie. Truly I am." Bodie's bitterness evaporated in the face of Cowley's obvious sympathy. But with the bitterness gone, Bodie wasn't sure what he felt. Grief? Anger? Emptiness? He felt like a balloon that had been blown up too much, ready to burst into far, far too many pieces at any moment.

"Christ." Bodie clenched his jaw and felt his hand tighten around the glass in his hand. "So we'll never know." He found he couldn't meet Cowley's eyes.

"Not unless Doyle turns up."

"Alive or dead."

"Alive or dead," Cowley agreed.

Bodie wanted nothing more than to pull back his arm and hurl the glass in his hand through Cowley's window. Destroying something seemed the best way to deal with the turmoil that roiled through his mind, that churned in his gut. But instead he placed the glass very, very carefully on Cowley's desk.

"Bodie?"

"What have you told Doyle's family?" Bodie'd met Ray's sister, Meg, a few times, and had been to dinner at his mum's in Derby once or twice. He always found it hard to believe that such an ordinary, likeable family had produced such a sarky scruff as Doyle. He didn't like to think of them going through what he was feeling.

"Nothing as yet. I was waiting for Dr. Marwood's findings. I didn't think there was any reason to worry them if it wasn't Doyle."

"And now?"

"Now I'll tell them the truth."

"And the body?"

"I'm ordering it held for a while yet. But if Doyle's family want to claim it..." Cowley didn't continue and Bodie didn't prompt him. Bodie didn't envy Meg and Mrs. Doyle that decision.

"And what about you, Bodie?" Cowley called him back from his unquiet thoughts.

"What about me?"

"Can I count on you to work this case?" Cowley paused and leaned forward across his desk. "Are you all right?"

Bodie nearly laughed. George Cowley being considerate of one of his agent's feelings had to be a sign of the coming apocalypse. But he didn't laugh. In fact he didn't think he'd feel like laughing again for a good long time.

"Told you before, I want justice for the bastards who did this. Nothing's going to stop me from seeing they get it. And…" Bodie had to stop for a moment. He suddenly found his throat had become too narrow for the words to get through.

"And?" Cowley encouraged.

"And maybe, just maybe, Doyle is still out there." Bodie clenched his right hand into a fist so tight that he could feel his fingernails bite into the palm of his hand. "And if he is, I'm going to find him."

* * *

Another day and Bodie was just about ready to admit defeat. They'd tracked down nearly every grass Doyle had ever talked to, he and Cowley's other agents. They'd even talked to a few that hadn't seen Doyle since he was a bright young copper in uniform. But no one knew anything. Not that they were telling. And Bodie was pretty sure that they'd all told what they knew.

No one knew anything about the explosion. No one knew if someone had his sights on Doyle. No one knew a fucking thing.

Bodie leaned back against the headrest of his Capri and closed his eyes for a moment. He'd slept even less last night than the night before, and it was beginning to catch him up. Didn't help that he was beginning to feel a deep, draining exhaustion in his limbs that had nothing to do with his sleepless nights and everything to do with the absence of Ray Doyle from his side.

Fucking bastard, to go and leave him like this. He'd kill him if he ever saw him again.

Sitting there, Bodie could feel his body relax with the beginnings of sleep and found he didn't have the energy to fight it any more. Sleep was an enemy and it took him there, parked in a less savoury part of the Embankment. It didn't soothe, but taunted him with images of fire and darkness. It mocked him with a vision of Doyle laughing until he screamed and transformed into the burned horror Bodie'd seen in the morgue.

Bodie awoke with a start, a sick taste in the back of his throat, and a beeping in his ear that turned out to be his R/T.

"3.7."

"You always take forever to answer, Bodie?"

"Sod off, Henderson. What do you want?"

"Cowley's turned up some new information."

Bodie's spine straightened and he frowned at the R/T in his hand. "What is it?"

"He finally got Doyle's phone records. He got a call from a phone box in Stepney just before he contacted me. That mean anything to you?"

"Might do." It was a slim enough lead, but Bodie saw where it might take him.

"You going to fill me in?"

"Doyle had a grass in Stepney, Charlie Teale."

"Doyle had plenty of grasses. I thought none of them knew anything."

"Charlie Teale happens to be the only one no one's been able to find."

"Things don't look good for Charlie Teale, then."

"Not when I find him, they won't."

"You'll have to wait for that."

"No I bloody won't."

"Yeah, you will. Cowley's ordered all agents in for a briefing on the Doyle situation."

"I already _know_ about the Doyle situation."

"All agents, Bodie. He made me promise to tell you especially. He'll have your bollocks if you don't show up. "

"Christ."

"I expect the Cow'd want him in too, if he was part of CI5."

"Sod off, Henderson," Bodie said by way of signing off. He thumbed off his R/T far harder than necessary and threw it onto the passenger seat, the place Doyle should have been sitting. The place where he'd soon be sitting again, if Charlie Teale could be found and if Bodie had any say in the matter.


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as Bodie arrived at headquarters Cowley tracked him down and grilled him about Charlie Teale. By the time all the other agents were assembled, Cowley had a detailed profile of Teale available for everyone. The briefing was blessedly short, the Cow obviously knowing that everyone was eager to get on the streets and find the one person who might know what had happened to Doyle. Might know if he was a body in the morgue or alive somewhere else.

All the teams and solos were assigned different areas of the city, with senior teams being given the areas immediately around Stepney, Teale's patch.

"I don't want any of you back here until someone's found Teale," were Cowley's final words as he released them onto the streets.

Bodie made for the car pool, his mind on Doyle and Teale and where the stupid little git had got to. Which, he reckoned, is why Murphy took him by surprise when he grabbed him by the arm as he neared his car.

"Watch it, Murph." Bodie pulled his arm away. "Never know what I might do."

"Sorry," Murphy said. "We just wanted to talk to you before you left."

"We?" Bodie looked past Murphy and saw most of the other senior agents--Anson and Susan, Lucas and McCabe, Jax and Ruth--standing behind him. To the last man and woman they looked grim-faced and determined. "What is this?"

"Well, we wanted you to know…that is… we were talking…" Murph was practically stuttering. Bodie was in no mood to put up with pissing about from anyone, not even Murph. Not when it kept him from finding Teale.

"Oh, give over, Murph. You're making a cock up of it." Ruth pushed forward. "We think that you should be the first one to take a crack at Teale, when he's found. We think you'd have the best chance of finding out what he knows."

Bodie was definitely listening now. "I think Cowley might have something to say about that."

"He might if he knew anything about it. But he doesn't." Ruth looked as steely as she did under fire.

"And how do you propose to manage it?"

"One of us finds Teale, we call you on the R/T, let you know there's a package to be delivered. Anson knows a derelict dock in Wapping that should do."

"And why would you lot do that?"

"We liked Doyle," Anson said, then gave an oof as Susan elbowed him in the ribs.

"We _like_ Doyle," Susan said. "And we don't half mind you. And we want very much to help you find out what happened to him."

"Tempting though it is, I don't want you lot to risk your own careers for us."

"Bollocks," Ruth said. "We look after our own, Bodie."

Bodie couldn't speak for a moment. He looked at the men and women who surrounded him, who were ready to throw everything away to make sure Doyle got the justice he deserved, and he felt unreasonably proud of them all.

"Thanks," was all he could say in the end, but he could see that they knew what he really meant.

"That's settled, then." Murph had finally got his voice back.

The crowd of agents dispersed, each to his or her own car, leaving Bodie standing there alone. When the last roar of an engine had dissipated down the street he finally got into his own Capri and headed for his hunting ground.

* * *

In the end, it wasn't Bodie who found Teale, or Murphy, or Ruth or Jax. It was Anson.

Bodie was searching yet another dismal squat in Limehouse, with just as much success as the last ten he'd gone through, when his R/T went off.

"3.7."

"5.2." And that was Anson. "Package picked up and ready for delivery."

"Understood," Bodie said calmly, even as he felt adrenaline flood his system. He put his R/T back in his jacket and picked his way carefully out of the squat. Wouldn't do to go through one of the rotten floorboards this place was littered with now that Teale was caught.

Bodie made it to Wapping and Anson's derelict dock in record time. He was the first one there, and waited impatiently for Anson to appear. As soon as Anson's car entered the area he was out of the car. He felt the cold wrath that he'd held onto the last few days begin to burn away, to be replaced by a hotter fury. But he knew better than to unleash that fury. Wouldn't do him, or Doyle, any good if Teale ended up dead.

"Where is he?" Bodie asked once Anson had made his way over to where he stood.

Anson nodded at his boot.

"Well?" Bodie's voice was all impatience.

Jingling his keys in his hand, Anson walked over and popped open the boot. Teale was inside looking terrified, his eyes bugged out, his hands straining against the rope that bound him.

Bodie allowed himself to show no emotion as he hauled Teale out of the boot, flicked open a vicious-looking jackknife and cut the ropes binding the little git. A flick of his wrist and he'd pulled off the tape Anson had used to gag him.

"Fuckin' 'ell, that hurt." Teale put a hand tenderly to his face, then rubbed tentatively at his wrists. "You'd no cause to do that. No cause at all."

"Shut it, Charlie," Bodie said, keeping his voice a frozen wasteland. "You know what we're looking for."

"I've no idea. No idea at all. One minute I'm minding me own business, the next Butch over there's grabbed me and stuck me in his car. In the boot of his car. The _boot_."

Teale was winding up to a nice little bout of hysteria, Bodie could tell. He'd seen Doyle deal with the little toe-rag often enough. Any second and he'd start blubbing or screaming or something undignified. Bodie couldn't let that happen, so he moved.

He grabbed Teale by the front of his jacket, swung him around and pushed him against his own car. Bent him backwards over the hood.

"What happened to him?" Bodie was surprised at how calm his own voice was, given the rage he felt running through every nerve ending he had.

"Who are you talking about?" Teale tried the gibbering idiot defence. Bodie was having none of it.

"Ray Doyle, you little bastard. Where is he?"

"Don't know. 'Aven't seen him for months."

"'Course you have, Charlie. You called him last night."

"I never."

"From a phone box. In Stepney. We know everything, Charlie. Everything but what happened to Doyle."

Bodie could see Teale deflate and he knew that they had him. He only hoped that he wasn't going to tell them that the body in Finsbury had been Doyle. Because if he told them that, Bodie knew he was going to kill the little bastard, and Cowley be damned.

"I don't know where he is." It was the last gasp of a man who knew the game was over. They all knew it, but Teale seemed determined to play the game out to the end.

"But you did call him." Bodie tightened his grip on Teale's jacket and pushed him again. A small movement, but one calculated to convey the leashed power behind it. Teale's face drained of its last drop of blood and he finally nodded.

"Yeah. I called 'im."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you. 'E'll kill me."

"I'll kill you first if you don't tell me why you called Doyle."

"'E asked me to. Told me what to say, where to send Doyle. And you don't turn 'im down."

"Who?" Bodie finally let the anger, the heat he had hidden under layers of ice to come through in his voice. He could see from the look on Teale's face that it petrified him.

"Donal McGann." Teale practically screamed the name. "That's who. Donal fucking McGann."

"McGann?" Bodie let go of Teale's jacket, letting the other man collapse on the ground. "But the message was about McGann."

"'E knew that would get Doyle out in the middle of the night, didn't 'e? Knew you two were looking for 'im. But 'e was lookin' for you, too." Teale picked himself up off the ground and brushed dirt from his hands and trousers before grabbing Bodie by the sleeve. "You've got to protect me. If 'e finds out I grassed on 'im, 'e'll kill me."

"So Doyle's not dead?" Bodie hadn't even realized how much he was hoping Doyle was alive until this moment.

"No, not dead. McGann wanted him alive. Needed some information from 'im, 'e said." Teale put his head in his hands. "Christ, I can't believe I told you that. I'm a dead man for sure."

"Tell me where he's taken Doyle and I'll make sure George Cowley himself stands guard over you."

"I can't."

"Teale." Bodie's voice was a clear warning.

"I really can't. They didn't tell me nothin'." He held out his hands piteously. "Would you tell me anything? If you were 'im?"

"He's got a point," Anson said.

"He knows something, Anson. Don't you, Charlie?" Bodie leaned in closer until Teale must have felt the heat of his breath.

Teale shook his head frantically.

"C'mon, Charlie." Bodie's hand went around Teale's throat and he wondered what he'd do if Teale didn't talk. Would he actually kill him? Would he be able to stop himself? But that was enough for Teale. He finally revealed the last scrap of information he knew.

"They didn't tell me, but I did hear 'em talking. They mentioned a country house they'd borrowed. Belonged to some mad lord or other with Irish sympathies."

"That doesn't help much, Charlie."

"Essex. The house was in Essex." Teale drew in a ragged breath. "I think it was near the coast."

Bodie drew his hand back and stepped away from Teale as if he'd only just woken from a bad dream.

"Good lad, Charlie," Bodie said, then looked over at Anson. "House in Essex owned by a peer with Irish sympathies. That oughta be a doddle for Cowley to find, shouldn't it?" Bodie bloody hoped so.

Anson nodded and threw Teale into his car--the back seat this time--and followed Bodie to headquarters.

* * *

It was slightly more than a doddle, but Cowley had a location for Teale's country house by late afternoon. East Mersea was owned by Baron Cyril Gurney. He'd been given his peerage for various unspecified services rendered the Crown and from what Bodie read in his file seemed to fall into the pleasant and stupid end of the aristocracy. He also had a secret sympathy for the Catholics in Ireland and had made a few less than savoury friends, including Donal McGann. How Cowley had winkled out that information Bodie didn't want to know. He'd bet the old man had a secret file on the Queen herself, just in case.

As soon as they had a location, Cowley assembled the team, gave them a quick briefing and had them all on the road for Essex. Cowley threw Bodie the keys to his car, which made Bodie grind his teeth. The last thing he needed was Cowley lecturing him on restraint all the way to Essex. Fortunately Cowley sat in the back and stayed silent for most of the trip. The few times Bodie chanced a look in the rear view mirror, Cowley was staring out the window with a furrowed brow and a grim-set mouth.

The trip wasn't long, just over two hours. Their little convoy pulled out of headquarters as the sun was setting. By the time they reached the A12 full darkness had well and truly fallen. They made Baron Gurney's neighbourhood just before 21.00.

Not that they headed straight for the house. It was surrounded by flat farmland, the only cover being a thin line of trees that ran beside the road. No doubt that was one of the reasons McGann had chosen the place to hide.

Cowley had set a rendezvous point a mile away, in a grove of trees that would easily hide their force. Bodie pulled the car into the trees. The other cars pulled in behind him, their headlights providing the only illumination on this moonless night, casting eerie shadows that shuddered and jumped.

Bodie shut off the engine and was just about to get out of the car when Cowley finally spoke.

"Bodie." And that was the gentlest Bodie had ever heard the Cow's voice.

"Yes, sir?"

"We'll get him back."

"Yes, sir." Bodie didn't quite trust himself to say more.

"And Bodie."

"Yeah?"

"By the book, lad."

"Every bloody page, sir," he said, knowing he didn't mean it, knowing that if they found Doyle dead in that house he'd break every rule in the fucking book and a few that hadn't even been written yet to make sure his killers didn't draw breath much longer than Doyle. Because if Doyle were dead, there'd be nothing left holding him to England and he could burn every bloody bridge he had on the whole damn island.

Cowley didn't say any more, and neither did Bodie. They left the car and the rest of the team gathered around for a final talk from Cowley.

"You all know what you're to do," Cowley said gruffly. "There's the main house and two outbuildings. Team One, with Jax in charge, will take the stable. Team Two under Ruth will take the equipment shed."

"Lucky Team Two, to be under Ruth," Bodie heard McCabe say with rude humour.

"I'm sure you're referring to Miss Pettifer's superior leadership skills, McCabe," Cowley said without missing a beat. Even in the unnatural light of the headlights, Bodie could see McCabe flinch. "Team Three, led by Murphy, will take the front of the main house. Which leaves Team Four and Bodie to take the rear."

"Get ready to move out in ten minutes. Once all four teams are in position and have reported in, you're to move in. Give them a short, sharp shock, ladies and gentlemen. Remember, it's believed that they're holding 4.5, so confirm your target before you shoot. Any questions?" There was a general shaking of heads. "Then good luck everyone."

* * *

It took less than ten minutes for the four teams of CI5 agents to get kitted up and make their way in darkness and silence to Baron Gurney's property. Bodie led his team, with Anson, Susan and Whitfield following.

The four of them took their place in a hedgerow. When they were settled, Bodie called in their readiness on the R/T.

"Team Four in place."

He waited as they heard each of the other three teams call in, their voices sounding distant and tinny in the darkness. He didn't look at his team. They knew their job and he couldn't bear to see the sympathy he knew would be lurking in their eyes.

When the last team was in place, Cowley gave the final order.

"Go, go, go."

Bodie felt his heart begin to race as adrenaline flooded his system but then training took over and he wasn't thinking at all.

He broke through the back door with all the force of his fury behind him and nearly knocked it off its hinges. He moved into the house, knowing without checking that his team was behind him.

They cleared the main floor in record time, meeting Murph's team in the middle. Experience told him the place to look for a prisoner was the basement, but instinct drove him up, his team following him. First floor, second floor, attic, and a door at the end with a great bloody lock on it. No lock had been made that could have withstood Bodie's boot just then. One kick and the door went flying.

Bodie stopped cold.

He knew what he'd been expecting. He'd played the nightmare scenarios over in his head enough times: Doyle beaten or broken, drugged or dead. What he hadn't expected was Doyle, in a pair of his ratty jeans made rattier by days of dirt and abuse but otherwise barefoot and shirtless, standing with a makeshift club that looked like it might once have been part of a chair in one raised hand and Donal McGann himself laid out cold at his feet.

"'Bout fucking time you turned up, Bodie," Doyle snarled.

Once he managed to pick his jaw up from the floor, Bodie started laughing, his relief at finding Doyle alive jumbled with just a little hysteria. Doyle, looking oddly ferocious and exposed at the same time, stared at him as if he were a madman.

"Oi, Susan, has Bodie gone off his nut while I've been gone?"

"That would presume he was sane to begin with," Susan said, her tone was dry, but it still revealed her own relief. "I've always thought the two of you were certifiable."

And that only made Bodie laugh harder.

* * *

"What happened, Ray?"

The two of them were alone in the attic while Cowley and the other teams put the wraps on McGann and his men. Doyle was wrapped in Bodie's jacket and a blanket Murphy had produced from one of the bedrooms. No one had been able to find any shoes that fit him, so his feet were still bare. That, more than anything, made Bodie keenly aware of Doyle's vulnerability.

And vulnerable he was. Bodie'd thought at first when they burst into the room that Doyle had been remarkably untouched by his misadventure, but now he'd had the leisure to really look at Doyle. He saw the bruises, some a few days old, some fresh, on face and torso, and he could see the pain they were causing in the way Doyle had shrugged gingerly into his jacket. Nothing Doyle wouldn't recover from, and quickly, but a reminder that so much worse could have happened.

"It was a setup and I was stupid."

"Don't be so hard on yourself." Bodie wanted nothing more than to put an arm around Doyle, but he was as afraid of inflicting further damage on Doyle as he was of what that would make him feel, so he stayed still. "Could have happened to any of us."

"I should have known Charlie wouldn't want a meet in the middle of the night in a deserted squat. Likes daylight, Charlie does. And crowded markets. His choice of meeting place runs to Portobello Road on a Saturday." Doyle sighed and ran a hand through his hair. It was more of a rat's nest than usual and his fingers caught in the tangles.

"Bloody hell, I could use a shower."

"I didn't want to say..." Bodie said with a grin.

"Go on, you daft sod. You try being kidnapped for days and see how sweet you smell." A cloud drifted across Doyle's expression. "It is days, isn't it?" Bodie nodded. "Lost track after a while."

"You were explaining what happened." Bodie prompted him. Best not to let Doyle dwell on the details; he knew that after far too long as his partner.

"Yeah, I suppose I was." Doyle pulled the blanket more tightly around him and staved off a shiver. That was more than Bodie could tolerate and this time he really did put a careful arm around Doyle's shoulder and drew him closer. "Arrived at the squat. A total tip."

"You should see it now, mate."

Doyle snorted quietly. "I'll bet. Decorated in early dynamite, is it? Anyway, I wasn't expecting any trouble. I mean, it was Charlie. Charlie's scared of his own shadow at the best of times. Only it wasn't Charlie waiting there, was it? It was Donal McGann and his merry men."

"Got the drop on you, did they?"

"Mate, I was down and out before I knew there was a fight on. Cowley'll have me in Macklin's tender care before the bruises have healed."

"I won't let him."

"Fat lot you'll have to say about it. He'll have you alongside me."

"Christ, you're probably right."

"I'm always right." He gave a grin that was comfortingly Ray. "Anyway, they had me trussed up and gagged in no time. Felt a bloody fool and there was nothing I could do about it. I do remember thinking I hoped McGann killed me quick, because it would be better than the bollocking Cowley would give me."

"Don't say that, Ray. Not even as a joke." Doyle gave him a piercing look, just then, and Bodie felt as if his partner had sussed out all his secrets in that one moment. But if he had, Doyle didn't press his advantage. He even looked sympathetic.

"Sorry, mate. Forgot what you must have gone through."

"Yeah, well, it was probably a piece of piss compared to your time with McGann." Bodie stopped for a second and then brought up the one thing he didn't really want to think about. "Ray, there was a body. In the house. Malone and his lads found a body."

"Suppose you thought it was me." Doyle sounded tired.

"Of course we bloody thought it was you. And the pathologist couldn't prove different." Bodie swallowed hard as he flashed back to what he'd seen in the morgue. "Who was it?"

"Some poor bloke McGann found who had the bad luck to be about my size and age. McGann's mates got him pissed, made sure he wouldn't be missed, checked his blood type--though how they knew mine in the first place I'll never know--and then used his body as a decoy for you lot."

"Fuckin' hell."

"You can say that again. They killed the poor bastard right in front of me. Put my leather jacket, chain and bracelet on 'im. Let me know it was me next if I didn't give them what they wanted." Doyle stopped and got a wide-eyed look on his face. "Christ, I never thought…Meg and Mum, did Cowley tell them about the body?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'll have to call them. Let them know I'm okay."

"Or at least no more cracked than usual."

"Ha bloody ha. Still working on killing Vaudeville, I see."

"You just don't appreciate my sense of humour, Doyle."

"I would if you had any."

"Since you're wounded, I'll let that pass."

"You don't want to argue because you know I'm right."

Bodie opened his mouth to argue, but made the mistake of looking at Doyle. Doyle's face held a deadly serious expression for all of five seconds before he broke out into an infectious grin. Bodie couldn't help but smile back.

"Good to have you back, mate," Bodie said, squeezing Doyle's shoulders just a bit tighter.

"Good to be back. I really did think I was for the chop. Heard them talking about what to do with me if I didn't talk. Current thinking was to kneecap me for fun and then drop me in the sea." Doyle shuddered. "Didn't fancy that."

"How'd you get clear?"

"Let them think I was worse off than I was. They stopped being quite so vigilant, and I managed to get free. Used an old scrap of wire to nobble the handcuffs they had me in, broke up a chair for the club. Would have been tough, but I reckon I could have made it."

"And then we had the bad manners to rescue you."

"I'm not complaining. Better you lot riding to the rescue than me running cross country with no shirt and no trainers."

"There's an inspirational image," Bodie said before he could stop himself. He looked at Doyle, wondering if he'd given too much away, but Doyle only raised an eyebrow at him. "So what did they want, McGann and his lot?"

"Information on the CI5 armoury. Thought it'd be an easy way of arming the cause."

Bodie whistled. "They didn't think much of themselves, did they?"

"A right bunch of nutters, they are. Plus McGann viewed it as a personal vendetta. Remember that bloke we put away a year back? Rory Callan? Turns out he was one of McGann's best mates. And Donal's good at holding a grudge."

"Yeah, Charlie mentioned something like that."

"You found the little toe-rag?"

"Yeah, he's the one who put us onto this place. After I put the frighteners onto him."

"Good old Charlie, can always count on him when cowardice is needed."

They fell into a contented silence, Bodie taking simple pleasure in the fact that Doyle was alive and mostly well and at his side. He couldn't know for sure, but he would have sworn that Doyle was experiencing similar feelings. At least he would have, until he turned to Doyle and found his partner looking at him with a speculative expression that somehow managed to send a flutter through his stomach.

"What is it?" he asked with a frown.

Doyle stayed silent for a good long minute, then he took a deep breath and began to speak. "Bodie, how long…"

He was interrupted by a clattering on the stairs and then Murphy poked his head in. Whatever Doyle had been about to say died on his lips.

"Cowley's sent me up. We're finished with McGann's men and the baron. Seems that in the end Baron Gurney didn't fancy having a lot of bogtrotters taking over his estate for the cause so he's shopped them all. The local coppers are coming 'round to take them in for the night."

"Well, that's good news, at least," Doyle said.

"And Cowley's asked me to give Bodie the keys to my car so you can go back to London now. Though why you two rate an early escape from the tedium of Essex, I'm not sure."

"Have a heart, Murph," Doyle said. "I've been wounded in the cause."

"Yeah, well you don't look _that_ bad." He threw his keys to Bodie. "There you go, mate. Mind you don't prang it. That car's still signed out under my name."

"I'm an excellent driver, Murph."

"That's not what the blokes in the car pool say." He looked back at Doyle. "Glad to have you back, Ray. You're the only one who can keep this maniac under control."

Bodie aimed a two-fingered salute at Murphy, who returned it with a wave before disappearing back downstairs.

"You were saying?" Bodie wasn't sure he wanted to hear Doyle's interrupted question, but he had the feeling he also didn't want it hanging over his head.

"Nothin' important." Doyle shook his head. "You go on and get the car. I'll wait downstairs."

"You okay to get down on your own?"

"Don't play bloody mother hen with me, Bodie. I'm fine."

"Can't help myself. You look like a wayward chick." A quick chuck under Doyle's chin and Bodie was off, Doyle's indignant shouts sounding in his ears.

* * *

It was nearing dawn when Bodie reached the outskirts of London. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and he reckoned it was a lucky thing he'd made it this far without driving them off the road.

He'd made most of the drive in silence. Doyle'd dropped off before they were five miles away from East Mersea and Bodie had let him sleep, wrapped in Murph's blanket, his feet in trainers two sizes too large propped up on the dash. Even kipped out he looked ready for the knacker's yard, his face bruised and drawn. Bodie resisted the urge to reach out and smooth away the frown that creased Doyle's brow. Wouldn't do to touch him. Might never want to stop, and then where would he be? Bloody well stuffed, no mistake about it. Because he wasn't sure what he wanted from Doyle any more: a quick fuck or love everlasting. All he knew was how gutted he'd felt when he'd thought Doyle was dead.

He shut down those thoughts and concentrated on the roads. Not that he needed to. There was barely any traffic yet.

Doyle's flat in Islington was closest, but Bodie headed straight for his own in Kensington. For once he'd drawn the better flat, with bright sunny windows, an airy kitchen and a sofa big enough to comfortably nap on. Doyle had always been popping 'round when there was a good match on the box. He'd also taken to appropriating his kitchen, complaining that his own was too small with no light to speak of and anyway Bodie never used it so why shouldn't he. Bodie never minded those evenings. He always got good grub out of them and the pleasure of Doyle's company.

The pleasure of Doyle's company…it kept coming back to that. No matter how hard he tried not to think of him, the annoying scruff was too firmly entangled in his life not to.

"You're losing it, my son," he whispered as he pulled in front of his block of flats.

"What?" Doyle jerked awake beside him, though whether it was Bodie's voice that had woken him or the sudden silence of the engine, Bodie wasn't sure.

"We're here," Bodie said.

Doyle rubbed his eyes and turned to Bodie. "'S not my flat."

"Heat's off in your flat, and I bet all he food's gone mouldy. Besides, you like my flat better. _And_ you have a change of clothes stored here."

"I do, don't I?" Doyle visibly brightened. "Hope you have an infinite supply of hot water, too. I'll be taking the world's longest shower."

"Not before time." Bodie wrinkled his nose.

"Bastard," Doyle said, but with a smile.

Once in the flat, Doyle disappeared into the bathroom with the promised change of clothes and Bodie headed into the kitchen to throw together what breakfast he could. Checking his supplies he reckoned he could just about manage eggs and toast. The toast was in the rack and the eggs were nearly done when he heard the shower stop, followed by the low tones of Doyle swearing.

"You all right, mate?" There was a long pause, so Bodie turned off the cooker and moved down the hallway in concern. "Ray?"

The door to the bathroom opened, to reveal Doyle, his hips wrapped in a towel, a look of frustration on his face.

"Don't suppose you have anything for burns? Only I forgot what a mess McGann made of my back, and I don't want put my shirt on before I deal with it."

Doyle's back was marked by nearly a dozen small circular burns. Too late Bodie remember one of McGann's victims telling them of his fondness for burning traitors with cigarettes. He felt sick that he hadn't taken better care of Doyle when they found him.

"Fucking hell, Doyle. Why didn't you say?"

"I stopped noticing it after a while. Is it really that bad?" He twisted to try and look at it.

"It's not good, though I suppose I've seen worse. Now stop that." He batted away Doyle's hand. "I'm going to get the first aid kit. Go sit in the bedroom, why don't you. I'll fix you up there."

When Bodie got to the bedroom, Doyle was sitting on the bed as meekly as he could, which is to say not very meekly at all. He'd abandoned the towel and pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms. His feet were still bare.

"Where do you want me?" Doyle asked with a grin.

"You might as well lie down. It'll make it easier for both of us."

"Easy. I like easy." Doyle waggled his eyebrows and flopped down on the bed, exposing the burns on his back. Several of the older ones had already scabbed over and started to heal, but there were some that looked fresh, and those wept blood and a watery yellow fluid.

"I'll just bet you do." Bodie bit his lip. "McGann forget to bring an ashtray with him?"

"Yeah. Bastard smoked like a chimney, too. Worse than Anson."

"I hope Cowley scares a few years off his life." He sat on the bed beside Doyle and soaked a piece of gauze in the saline solution that too many years earning his living with a gun had taught him to keep in the house. "Sorry about this, sunshine. This is going to hurt like fuck."

To his credit, Doyle didn't flinch. Not when Bodie cleaned the burns, and not even when he put antiseptic cream on them and covered them with gauze. He did, however, swear most inventively. Even after experience with soldiers and battlefields on three continents, Bodie was impressed.

"There you go sunshine," Bodie said as he taped the last bit of gauze in place. "I reckon you'll be sleeping on your stomach for a few days."

"More than a few days, by the feel of it." Doyle sat up gingerly. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Bodie opened a drawer and threw a t-shirt at Doyle. "You can wear this. It's an old one. I won't mind if it gets a bit of blood on it. Be a shame to ruin yours."

Doyle shrugged into the t-shirt with a grimace. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bodie was glad he wasn't to be subjected to Doyle's bare chest for the evening. _That_ he didn't think he could bear, not without wanting to run his hands over the exposed skin.

"C'mon." He moved past Doyle toward the door. "I've got breakfast waiting for you."

"Bodie." He was stopped as Doyle snagged his wrist in passing. "Hold up a minute." Doyle's fingers were warm against his skin and he pulled his hand away quickly before the temptation to feel more of Doyle overwhelmed him.

"Breakfast is getting cold."

"Breakfast can wait." Doyle's voice was firm. "C'mon. Sit down for a minute, would you. You're putting a crick in my neck."

Though the last thing in the world he wanted to do was sit beside Doyle on his bed, Bodie did it anyway. Sooner begun, and all that.

"How long…" Doyle stopped and looked down at his hands playing with the frayed bottom of the t-shirt. "Christ, this is hard. Harder than I thought."

A wave of cold swept Bodie, from his head to the soles of his feet. He didn't know exactly what Doyle was going on about, but he was certain he wasn't going to like it. "Just say it, why don't you. Whatever it is."

"Right, then." Doyle stilled his hands and looked steadily at Bodie. "I know."

"Know what?"

"I followed you. That night. Before Charlie and McGann and the explosion."

"Jesus, Doyle." Bodie felt the muscles in his jaw clench, felt his hands clench into fists, as he wondered what exactly Doyle had seen and desperately searched for a way to explain it away. He badly wanted to be somewhere else, to be anywhere but here, having this conversation. He wanted to lash out, but he couldn't hit Doyle. Not at the best of times. And certainly not after all Doyle'd been through. But if he couldn't strike out with his fists, he could certainly do it with words.

"Who gave you the fucking right?" Bodie felt the heat in his face, felt the racing of his heart. "Not getting enough invasion of privacy on the job so you thought you'd start in on your partner."

"It wasn't like that." Doyle's eyes were wild and desperate.

"Oh, yeah. Well why don't you tell me what it was like?"

"Started as a lark. Wanted to find out what you were hiding. I reckoned you were seeing a stunning bird and didn't want me to steal her. But then you ended up in Soho, and you walked into that place."

"Wasn't quite what you expected to find, was it Doyle? That you're partner's a fucking ponce."

Doyle's face twisted into an angry grimace. "Shut up, Bodie. I told you it wasn't like that."

"Jesus, Doyle. We're supposed to trust each other, not sneak around looking for each other's secrets."

"Trust?" Doyle's voice rose and hung on the word. "That's rich, coming from you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You expect me to trust you, but you didn't trust me enough to tell me this."

"All right. I like blokes. Every once in a while."

"Not that, Bodie. I think I knew that before."

"Then what?" Bodie backed against his wardrobe. He felt cornered, like a suspect they'd run to ground and trapped in a blind alley.

"I _saw_ him, Bodie. The bloke you pulled."

Bodie's gaze darted around the room like it would on an op when he was checking a room's exits. But he knew there'd be no easy exit from this situation.

"Curly hair." Doyle slowly stood. "Skinny body." With each word he took another step toward Bodie. "Tight jeans. Leather jacket." He was standing right in front of Bodie, now, so close that Bodie could feel the heat of his body, could smell the scent of his shampoo. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" The charade had gone on this long, and Bodie couldn't see a way of stopping it that wouldn't end in violence.

"Tell me you wanted this." Doyle stood looking at him, his eyes gone wide, his nostrils flared, his mouth open just enough that Bodie could see his tongue flicking against his bottom teeth.

"Want wha..."

Bodie's words broke the spell that kept Doyle still. He grabbed Bodie's shoulders, leaned forward and kissed him. Of all the ways Bodie had thought this would end, this option had never crossed his mind. Though perhaps it should have. Doyle was a randy sod, after all. All the doubts he'd ever had about getting involved with Doyle assaulted him. Because maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been worried about Doyle wanting a relationship. Maybe he'd been worried about Doyle just wanting a quick leg over, a meaningless fuck.

He opened his mouth to protest, but Doyle just used that to press his advantage and Bodie found Doyle's tongue invading his mouth, making him gasp, making him feel things he shouldn't.

He wrenched his head away. "No," he whispered. Then he broke Doyle's hold on his shoulders and pushed him onto the bed. "I won't be a mercy fuck."

"Oh, there won't be anything merciful about it, Bodie." Doyle licked his lips and leaned back on his elbows, looking like a wanton, if slightly battered, angel. "Do you know what I did that night? When I saw you and that bloke go into a hotel?" He raised his shirt with one hand and rubbed a lazy circle on his bare belly. "I went home and brought myself off while I thought about you fucking him. You did fuck him, didn't you? It wasn't the other way 'round?"

Bodie could only nod. His mind was in turmoil and he had no idea what he could say in this situation. His cock, on the other hand, had no doubts about what it wanted. He could feel it stir and lengthen, could feel it push against his trousers.

Doyle's eyes flicked down, and then he smiled, a slow, seductive expression that made Bodie's blood boil even more.

"Nearly rubbed myself raw that night. Thinking about you fucking. Except it was me I imagined you pounding into--long and hard--not that bloke." Doyle dipped the tips of his fingers below the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. "Is that what you were thinking, too? That it was me you were fucking instead of him."

"You don't know what you're playing with, Doyle," Bodie said between clenched teeth, wanting nothing more than to strip the clothes from Doyle's body and fuck him raw. Only the knowledge of Doyle's injuries and what little common sense he had remaining stopped him.

"I know exactly what I'm playing with."

Doyle stood again and moved toward Bodie. He grabbed Bodie by his belt buckle and swung him toward the bed. Just that little thing and Bodie's cock throbbed in anticipation.

"You can't do this, Doyle. Don't want to hurt you. Your burns..."

Doyle stopped his mouth with another kiss, one that was deep and hot and made Bodie's pulse race.

"You won't hurt me, Bodie. Not all sex has to be athletic. For what I'm thinking of, I'm in just the right sort of shape." And then Doyle pushed him onto the bed.

Bodie let himself fall, fearing, hoping he knew what Doyle had in mind. Doyle was beside the bed in a single step, and on his knees in a second. Then Bodie's hopes and fears bloomed at Doyle opened his flies and pulled down his trousers and pants far enough to expose Bodie's now rampant cock.

Doyle smiled at him, a beatific, glorious smile, and then he skinned back the foreskin, wrapped one hand around Bodie's cock and lightly mouthed the head. Bodie tried to hold still, but it was beyond him and his hips bucked. In response, Doyle used his free hand to hold him down by the hipbone. That contact was even more glorious and Bodie arched back his neck and moaned.

"Like that?' Doyle rubbed a thumb across the sensitive skin of Bodie's inner thigh. Bodie could only moan again in response. "How about this?" And now Doyle took the full length of Bodie's cock in his mouth, into that astonishing heat. Bodie clutched the bedspread in an attempt not to thrash. As fantastic as Doyle's mouth felt, Bodie still retained enough control to want to keep from hurting Doyle.

He looked down and saw Doyle's curls, saw Doyle's mouth taking in his cock and it was all too much. A final moan and he could feel his balls tighten, feel his cock pulse, feel himself going over the edge. Doyle didn't pull back, he only sucked harder and then swallowed when Bodie came.

Bodie lay there for a minute, gasping, feeling exhilarated and exposed and complete confused. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see Doyle quite yet, not quite knowing how to face him.

He felt the bed dip beside him, felt a familiar hand, rough with calluses, stroke his hair. He opened his eyes and there was Doyle, sitting beside him with a look on his face that was heartbreaking in its openness. Bodie didn't know what he'd ever done to deserve being the recipient of that look.

He sat up and looked at Doyle in wonder. He reached out a hand and drew two fingers across Doyle's bottom lip. Doyle opened his mouth and played his tongue lightly across the fingers in a way that made Bodie's cock twitch hopefully again.

"Christ, Doyle. That was..."

"Amazing? Wonderful? The best you've ever had?" Doyle grinned wide enough to show his chipped tooth.

"Not far off." Bodie swallowed once, hard. "Didn't entirely know if you went in for that sort of thing. Not for a certainty."

"Haven't in a long time. Haven't been interested. But for you, I made an exception." Doyle leaned forward and licked under the line of Bodie's jaw and pushed him to the bed. "Apparently you never forget, like riding a bicycle. Except without the bicycle and with another bloke. And with both of you naked." Doyle pushed up Bodie's shirt, exposing his belly to the cool air of the bedroom. "I quite fancy seeing you naked. Always buttoned up, you are."

Bodie grabbed at the hand stroking at his side and held it firmly. "That all I am, Doyle? An exception?"

"You're a bit more than that."

"How much more?" And that was more than he'd ever asked for from any of his birds. Or from anyone, come to that.

Doyle twisted his hand and twined his fingers with Bodie's. "I had a lot of time to think, in Essex. In between McGann and his blokes having a go at me. Made me think about what's important. What really matters. _Who_ really matters." Doyle paused and Bodie could see the dip of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "You matter, Bodie. More than anyone else in my life. More than family. More than friends. More than George fucking Cowley. You."

Bodie smiled then, because he knew it was all right. Knew they both wanted the same thing. Knew that there'd be no more need for substitutes, not for either of them.


End file.
